A Beautiful Enchantment
by sarapals with past50
Summary: Following Grissom and Sara as they make a new life together after the finale CSI episode. Set in a beautiful, unique part of the world...a bit of mystery, romance, and excitement!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: A new story for 2019...following the finale episode of CSI. GSR with a little something extra. Enjoy!_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

Chapter 1

Ten men huddled in the inflatable boat, shoulder to shoulder, holding the dark hoods they wore with pinched fingers or the press of their hands to keep the night wind from blowing the covering from their heads. They did not know each other, not yet, as the small boat snaked through the bay, avoiding a few small yachts and cruise vessels. Beyond these were other ships, silhouetted against the darkening sky with lights brighter than the stars.

No one on the yachts and ships paid attention to another small boat; dozens crisscrossed the bay from sunrise to sun set hauling tourists from ship to shore, from beach to boat.

The man handling the boat managed a smooth landing, slowing the motor so the front bumped into sand and nine of the men simply stepped into shallow water and easily walked to a narrow sandy beach.

By now, the sun had disappeared, darkness came quickly, and moonlight reflected on the sand to provide a path among the lounging sea lions that barely bothered to open an eye to these newest arrivals. The air was filled with the grunts and snores of these placid animals, unafraid of the two-legged things walking among them.

The group walked until sand disappeared against black rocks and the sea lion sounds soon disappeared. A new scurrying sound, the clawing of tiny crabs on rock, became as distinct as the snores of the sea lions as the men made their way across rough terrain. A few birds roosted along the rocks, reacting much as sea lions and small crabs to the late visitors—ignoring the intrusions by these dark-clothed visitors.

That the creatures were oddly indifferent in the presence of humans was well-documented since the discovery of these islands. There was no fear of men; the animals cared about mating and food, sunning and swimming. One theory explained the lack of wariness in the animals came from thousands of years without predators; or perhaps each animal looked at its fearless neighbor and decided to live the same way. If either of the theories was correct, the men did not care as they hiked in a determined method, showing no interest in the birds or sea lions or crabs. Their target was inland, away from the beach and black lava rocks.

An hour passed quickly as the group became mere shadows in moonlight moving across ground that changed from rocky coastline to grassland meadows. They came to several dense brambles of low growing plants but easily pushed onward, fear and panic non-existent as they continued their hike because the men, as the animals, had no real fear of discovery.

By the time the moon was high in the night sky, they reached their destination—an open pasture with a few scrubby trees. Quickly, they spread out, stooping to pick up dark objects about the size of dinner plates, and dropping these into sturdy cloth duffle bags. Each man carried two bags and when one appeared full, it was tied and placed on the ground while the second one was filled.

Not a word was spoken but each man thought about the ease of this job; quick money to be made with this one-night excursion. And they had no idea how much money would eventually be made by the sale of these prized reptiles; did not care as long as they received their cash as soon as these bags were passed to a waiting ship…

…Gil Grissom had given up on anything resembling a normal life with a wife, a family, a home; had decided he was born to be a loner, an outsider. The isolation of working alone had not bothered him; or so he told himself. Until he had returned to Las Vegas, was in the physical presence of the only woman he'd ever loved—and he had been speechless.

Now, months, later, he knew he was never meant to be alone. He had chosen a path and refused to admit his mistake; could not bring himself to acknowledge his own role in leaving his wife until he sat across from Heather Kessler and on an impulse, started talking. By then, it was too late. Sara had moved on, becoming the head of the crime lab.

And then, things changed. In a heartbeat—not a heartbeat, but in a few hours.

Sara had come to him. Dropping everything in her life, she'd found him; joined him on the boat and neither had ever looked back to what could have been.

Since that amazing cloudless day, his life had been happier than he could have imagined. He wanted to smile every awaking minute; he did laugh—often. He was happy. And in his happy state, he could remember his fear, his exhaustion, his painful thoughts. For years, he had thought something was wrong with him—wrong for thinking Sara was just a woman. She was off-limits, younger, attractive—and the prospect of pleasure such as he'd never experienced. Yet he had been drawn to her in a way that defied reason and that had scared the hell out of him. Even when he saw the desire in her eyes, he had been the one with willpower to back away.

Then, one nameless morning, after a long, mundane shift, she—the woman he had tried to ignore, rebuke, pretend to misunderstand the invitation in her eyes—had a dead battery. Her car would not move so he'd stayed with her until the tow truck arrived, taken her to the repair shop, and waited while she learned what needed to be done to her hybrid-multi-battery car.

Driving her home, she had been silent, looking out the window, her face turned away and something—some inner voice—told him she was crying. His fingers ached with the yearning to touch her. She was so beautiful.

When he stopped at her apartment, she had scrambled to find her door key before giving him a smile.

He blamed the smile.

His hand seemed to move without conscious thought to touch her face where a single tear was caught in her dark lashes. His thumb brushed it away and, suddenly, the yearning for her that he'd been so determinedly holding at bay swamped him like an ocean wave. He got the same sensations he'd experienced as a child playing on the California beach—a feeling of being knocked almost off his feet, staggering to catch his balance on shifting sand. And dear God, he wanted her.

It wasn't a thought or a decision; his high minded principles were forgotten as he reacted to a need that had been growing within him for years and had suddenly become bigger than he was.

As his mouth met hers—soft lips parting slightly—there were no alarm bells or warning whistles. The sensation of fine silk drenched in warm honey, he had thought. Sara, sweet, wonderful Sara who responded with fierce hunger, taking her cues from him. He remembered thinking he had to stop kissing her; he had to breathe. But her hands were in his hair while his fit perfectly around the beautiful, graceful column of her neck and that was the last rational thought that went through his head for some time.

They did get inside her apartment while fully clothed.

What followed was still a vivid experience in his mind. She felt perfect in his arms as if she'd been fashioned just for him. Right for him. In a daze, he'd assured her he would never hurt her. He had tasted every inch of her—trailed kisses in the wake of parting fabric as she cried and shuddered—and she had satisfied yearnings he had never realized he had…

A pale light had entered the room as he had reminisced and he realized he was stiff; not the uncomfortable, inflexibility of his body after being in one position. The other kind of stiff—he had a hard-on as rigid as a flag pole.

With a slight turn, the heaven he remembered—the soft-scented warmth of the woman he loved—filled his senses. As his hand circled her body, as he felt the soft ladder of her ribs beneath his fingertips, that sense of quiet awareness filled him again. And then his hand cupped her breast. When his thumb grazed her nipple, she moaned quietly, half-awake, and shifted to her back.

Sara whispered, "I thought you were awake."

 _A/N: If you enjoyed this chapter, leave us a comment! More to come! Thank you!_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: A new chapter! Enjoy!_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 2**

Sara had been in that near-awake state when she'd felt her husband's careful movements beside her. She had kept her eyes closed, sensing his waking moments, giving him time to wake her or quietly leave their bed. A few minutes passed before she knew his intentions.

Life was joyful, she thought. They seemed to smile all the time; she smiled as she felt the warm body snuggle closer to hers.

Lyrics from an old song tingled around the edges of her thoughts—from a movie she'd watch years ago—she must have done something good to have this life, to have this man loving her.

His touch was welcomed; after all the years together, he continued, at times, to be a shy lover. She smiled. And a gentle one.

When he kissed her shoulder, she rolled to face him; his hand cupped her breast. As his thumb gently brushed her nipple, she felt the excited rush of anticipation. Arms intertwined and lips met; he shifted slightly to one side as he pulled at the strings of her shirt to bare her breasts. When he took the tip of her nipple into his mouth and gently rolled his tongue around it, she gasped as her spine arched.

"Gil," she whispered.

His hand pushed away the shirt, slid downward over the curve of her belly to the front of her panties, and settled at the apex of her thighs.

His mouth found hers again, kissing her deeply, passionately as his fingers found the sensitive folds and the warm wetness of her sex.

She tried to say something—something sexy and flirtatious—but all that came from her was a groan and a deep "yes, yes" as she felt the heat from his erection touch her. Nearly driving her to distraction, he slowly nudged himself into her until she locked her legs around him and pushed—quickly, completely.

"Sara," one word, her name, whispered with passion, excitement, and love as she kissed his chin, his nose, his ears, his lips before she climaxed and lost all concept of time and place.

...When Grissom woke some time later, Sara had left the bed and, as he sat up, he realized the sun was well above the horizon. The door to the small balcony was open so the sounds of the morning drifted to his ears; street noise was muffled because the bedroom was on the backside of the house but he could hear a soft voice. He pulled on pants and a shirt and padded barefoot to the door.

The site that greeted his eyes—Sara strolling about the vegetable garden, wearing a long pale blue shirt over pants, sandals on her feet—nearly took his breath. When she knelt to pick a small tomato, he leaned against the doorway and his smile grew.

This was a life he'd never dared dream. The garden came with the rented house and in the few months they had lived in the house, Sara had turned it into a vegetable oasis. Beans, squash, tomatoes, peppers and potatoes were growing in containers. Flowers grew with no effort—or so Sara claimed. For six months, they were living in a house that belonged to the Darwin research facility in Puerto Ayora while he worked as a researcher at the Darwin Institute. He worked tagging tortoises—it wasn't really research, but tramping around remote areas looking for the giant tortoises that could masquerade as a rock or a rotting tree. He loved every minute of it. His second—the real research project—was checking traps for invasive flies. While not the head researcher, his results were so accurate that he'd become a teacher to others doing the same field work.

A high-pitched giggle caught his attention. Dark curls bobbed among colorful flowers and greenery before a little girl appeared, giving a tinkling laugh as she reached Sara. Their young daughter took an offered tomato, rolled it between her chubby fingers, and popped it into her mouth.

Mesmerized by his wife and daughter, he stepped onto the balcony. Immediately, the child's eyes found him and she pointed, calling him 'Dada' as she waved.

"Good morning, Edie!" He called before returning to the bedroom.

He found his shoes and headed to the garden where he was met with a shower of hugs and kisses when he picked up Edie. Genetics had given her the dark curly hair of her mother, the blue eyes of her father and the promising intelligence and curiosity of both. Her precociousness surprised everyone but her parents who thought it normal development for their child. Her vocabulary, English and Spanish, was extensive for a fourteen month old—at nine months, her words had formed coherent sentences; she knew numbers and the meaning of sums by the time her first birthday arrived. And while quietly acknowledging their daughter's intelligence, Sara and Grissom worked to provide a playful environment.

Edith Elizabeth Grissom's name came from the author and early entomologist, Edith Patch; chosen by Sara after finding a copy of _"Dame Bug and her Babies"_ in his mother's possessions. It had been a well-read, favorite book of both he and his father and the first book Edie claimed as her own.

After giving the little girl his complete attention for several minutes, he caught Sara's around the waist and kissed her.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

Sara grinned. "Wonderful, thank you—and you?"

He kissed her again before putting the squirming child on the ground where she ran to the tomato plants saying, "Look, Dada. Red tomatoes!" Her words were clear and unmistakable as she pointed to the basket holding ripe tomatoes.

He hugged his wife closer, saying, "I'm fine—better than fine—thoroughly content—happy." Kissing her again, he said, "I should have gotten up with Edie—you need rest." His hand went to her belly, already the size of a small melon. "Don't over-do."

This time, she kissed him and touched his face lightly. "I'm fine, Gilbert! This geriatric pregnant woman is fine—putting all the young moms to shame with my healthy weight and normal blood glucose!"

"Science is a wonderful thing, dear."

Science and technology had certainly helped with Sara's first pregnancy and the second one had been quicker and easier to bring about due to advanced expertise and her first successful outcome. On the island, she was the oldest pregnant woman in the pre-natal clinic—an oddity that she'd embraced.

"I'll bring out breakfast if you'll keep watch on our Miss Curious." She kissed her husband again, slipping out of his hug. "Teresa will be here before noon."

Teresa was their local housekeeper and cook, coming in every morning after stopping at the farmers market. Very quickly, she had become indispensible, becoming a friend to Edie, an advisor to Sara and Grissom on local matters, and a friendly gossip about the entire population.

When Sara returned with fruit, yogurt, granola, milk and coffee, Grissom's cell phone was on the tray.

"Your phone's been beeping every minute," she said. "Looks like the park superintendent—or his office is looking for you."

Grissom picked up the phone, checked the screen, and frowned as he returned the calls—all from one number. As Sara cleaned Edie's hands for breakfast, his call went through. A few seconds later, he left the table; by the time, Sara and Edie were finishing with yogurt and granola, he returned.

"You won't believe this," he said, sighing as he sat down.

Sara raised her eyebrows in response, an indication for him to continue.

"Thieves took over one hundred young tortoises from the breeding center on Isabela—sometime in the past two days." He spooned yogurt over his granola, shaking his head. "There's no security—she's asking if I'll go over with a couple of others to see what we can find."

Sara placed strawberries on Edie's plate. She said, "How many park rangers are there?"

He made a gruff sound before saying, "Two rangers, I think, and a couple of security people. She's called for authorities from Quito to fly out but they won't get here tomorrow." He sighed again before looking at Sara. "Will you be okay? I won't get back for at least two days."

Sara smiled, saying, "I'll be fine—we'll be fine." She reached over and took his hand. "Go find these bad guys—you're better than anyone else at that."

Her words caused him to smile. He said, "I won't have my best investigator with me."

Standing, Sara ruffled his hair; kissed the top of his head. "Edie can have more strawberries and I'll pack you a bag while you finish breakfast."

 _A/N: Thanks for reading! Let us know what you think; leave a comment! We want to think GSR is alive in fandom land!_


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N: Thanks for reading! If you enjoy the story, let us hear from you!**_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 3**

Along the equator the sun has a peculiar radiance, spilling down with a brilliant blue-white, mostly unnoticed by hat-wearing tourists hurrying to select seats on an unfamiliar boat.

As Gil Grissom boarded the ferry boat, there was not a cloud to be seen from horizon to horizon. He noted winds as favorable with water calm beyond the harbor. It was a good day to be outside and for a boat ride.

He and two other men, park rangers who were law enforcement officers, selected seats near the rear of the ferry. The trip took two hours on a good day with outboard motors so loud conversation was impossible. The three had made the trip on previous occasions and knew which seats were best for sleeping or daydreaming.

Once underway, there was a rhythm to the sounds and motion, almost hypnotic, of the boat's fast movement and, on a normal trip, Grissom had found it easy to dose during the trip but not today.

He had been briefed on the developments—what they knew was precious little—of the missing tortoises. As soon as he had learned of the theft, he had requested the rangers on Isabela Island isolate the area as much as possible. Of course, after two or three days, if any evidence had been left, it had probably been blown away or disappeared in normal traffic.

That the crime had occurred had distressed everyone; no, he corrected his thoughts. Grief was a better description. These tortoises were babies to the employees at the center. Breeding had been successful in recent years, slowly bringing the endangered giant reptiles back from certain extinction. So much so that researchers had felt confident in moving the animals to open spaces to reestablish a ravaged population. It had worked well; the tortoises were moving from nesting areas to water holes in protected migratory routes. Slowly, the tortoises were being tagged with GPS—but the ones taken had not been tagged.

The research director and the park superintendent knew of Grissom's work history; had teased him in the past about changing careers from human-to-human criminal acts to human-to-environmental crimes. This morning's phone call had been a request—a plea—to help; talking with the two men with him, he realized no one had any real investigative experience. The most frequent crimes involved stolen bicycles that turned up after a few days.

Surprised he'd slept, he woke to startling light, brilliant blue water, and the outline of land ahead.

This was Isabela, the largest of the Galapagos Islands. Over the centuries, the islands had been called 'islands of fire' because of volcano activity and 'Encantadas' because of rising and falling mists that made the islands disappear. A cartographer had named the dots on a map the Galapagos and whalers and pirates found a source of food on the islands. The food was the giant tortoises which could live a year without eating and quickly became a favorite meat source for sailors.

At some long-ago time, Ecuador had claimed the islands—thought to be barren of any profitable resource—and now, the unique environment of these islands brought millions of tourists dollars.

The boat slowed to enter the bay weaving among the cruise ships and guide boats waiting for tourists; the small town, where most of the people on the island lived, came into view. Grissom estimated the population at several thousand. Water was scarce on this island that consisted of sand, rock, little top soil, low growing vegetation and two active volcanoes. Yet it was diverse. Vegetation was different from the other islands and birds, animal and marine life flourished here. Now, there were more giant tortoises on Isabela than any other island.

Grissom and the two men with him, Sam and Jose, were the last to step from the ferry. Two men waited for them and after quick greetings, the five walked through the small town to the research center which was a simple building and several areas fenced with low stone walls.

"We have about three hours until sunset," the local ranger explained. "We could go—it'd be a dark walk back—or wait until tomorrow."

Almost together, the three said "Go" And backpacks with water, snacks, flashlights were immediately handed to them.

"We have almost nothing to use as equipment to investigate a crime," one of the men said.

Grissom responded, "We have our eyes. It might be good for us to see the area in darkness too."

The men took an established trail as one of the locals stated what was known. One hundred and thirty-three tortoises had been taken, arriving at this number by checking painted numbers on remaining tortoises.

"All were around a small pond," explained the ranger, "Within an area of about three acres where this trail ends. We know—almost certain—the thieves did not use this trail but came by water and walked in from the east."

An overnight security guard had been on duty and heard nothing. As if sensing their question, the ranger said, "I'd base my paycheck on his statement—he didn't hear anything. A good man."

It took nearly an hour to arrive at the area—an open space surrounded by a tangle of low-growing plants.

The ranger said, "We've stayed out of the area once we knew about the theft."

Puzzled, Grissom asked, "How'd you search for the tortoises without disturbing this area?"

Juan, the other man who had met them at the boat, made a soft chuckle, saying, "My son has a little drone so we used it to fly around. We know the tortoises can't cross the span of lava rock to the north and the vegetation around here isn't really dense so we could spot the tortoises and read the numbers."

The three new-arrivals looked at the man with admiration and for the first time in hours, their mouths twitched as smiles formed.

"And I think we found their path," Juan added. "Or most of it—it disappeared once it got to the lava." He pointed across the area, saying "We could see it with the drone—didn't even try to disguise their path."

With careful steps, which turned out to be unnecessary in the matted weeds, the men walked around the open land. What they saw was a 'path' of broken twigs and crushed blades of grass. Sam and Jose stayed behind while Grissom and the two rangers followed the route of the thieves.

When they came to thick underbrush, Grissom used his flashlight, looking for any breaks in the thorny vegetation. He said, "They had to push through here—it's not easy."

A moment later, one of the men called out, "I think it's here!"

"Amazing," Grissom muttered when he looked at the way the tangle had closed over in one or two days. "Carlos," he asked, "Have you got a camera?"

His flashlight had picked up a few threads hanging from thorns among the dense bushes. The camera came out; Grissom was pleased to see it was a real camera with an expensive set of lens.

Carlos said, "I have little bags for evidence. We should take it—before the wind blows it away." Quickly, he added, "The officers from Quito will be happy for this."

Carefully, they cut the thorns and the threads from the brambles and sealed the envelope.

While Grissom and Carlos took photographers and bagged the threads, Juan walked several feet away.

He said, "Why don't we push through here—away from their path?"

A few minutes later, the three were standing on the other side of the snarl of undergrowth. All three had lifted their arms above their heads to keep from getting scratched.

Juan said, "I noticed a few dark stains on thorns—might be blood." He grinned, saying, "Do you think they might have scratched their faces? Their hands?"

"Wouldn't they cover their faces? Wear gloves?" Grissom asked.

Carlos made a sad laugh. "Probably came in wearing jeans and tee-shirts. They were not concerned about getting caught."

A shout caused all three to look toward the other two men. One called, "We've found a footprint—a shoe print! Right at the edge of the pond!"

With sunlight fading, Grissom tied bright orange streamers to mark the thieves' path while Carlos and Juan cut several sticks with dark stained thorns.

After Carlos took dozens of photographs of the shoe print, Grissom covered it with a thick plastic sheet, weighted it down with rocks, and staked several orange streamers around it.

Darkness came quickly; the men found rocks to sit on and drank water as dusk became night. They talked about the kind of people who would steal these national treasures, refusing to speculate on purpose of the theft.

One said, "I don't know if we'll ever find who did this."

"We have a start," Grissom said. "A few threads, maybe blood from scratches, and a shoe print—more than we had when we arrived."

 _A/N: The story continues...leave a comment so we'll be encouraged to write! Thank you for reading, for enjoying GSR and for keeping it alive!_


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: New chapter! Enjoy!_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 4**

It had been a busy day for Sara and Edie.

In her search for establishing a routine for her daughter, Sara had found a community center with a playground for young children shortly after arriving in Puerto Ayora. And the director of the center had immediately recruited Sara's help as a teacher of English. Two days a week, Sara sat with young mothers as they watched their children play and taught English. Not so much a teacher because most of them knew rudimentary English, she was an interpreter of meanings of song lyrics and television plots. The women, most of them locals, taught her about living on a small island; Sara, for the first time in her life, grew to enjoy the lighthearted company of other women.

After the play session, they had enjoyed lunch with Teresa who was an excellent source of town news. Everyone was talking about the theft of the tortoises, she said, drawing conclusions, making assumptions, pretending to know more than they did.

"It's the Chinese, a lot of people believe—want to eat the tortoise meat," Teresa said. "Or, maybe it's the Peruanos," she added. "They've done it before." She continued telling about the theft and return of twenty-six tortoises until they finished lunch.

Edie had taken a short nap, woke in her usual playful mood and ready to play on the patio while Sara worked in the garden for a while. Sara was thankful every day for a child who had a joyful nature, a spirited personality, and a delightful tenacity; by the time her firstborn was three months old, she knew she'd have a second child in this 'second chance' at life she'd been given.

She wandered back from the garden with a colander of green beans to add to their dinner. For the third night, she and Edie would eat an early meal, take a walk along the waterfront to buy ice cream, and return home for an early bedtime. She'd heard from Grissom earlier who said he had missed the last ferry and would not be home until tomorrow.

Home, she smiled as she watched her daughter playing with a box of toys—a hodgepodge of new and odd playthings accumulated in the months they had been living on the island. Home was where they happened to be; first on Grissom's boat for a few months after she'd left Vegas while Betty's former home in Venice Beach was renovated. They had lived there long enough for her to get pregnant with the help of fertility physicians at UCLA and, afterwards, instead of sitting around waiting for the birth of their first baby, she and Grissom had flown to Hawaii to work with a whale-tracking group for several months. They had returned to Los Angeles in time for Edie's birth and a huge celebration with their friends from Las Vegas.

Their friends—Jim Brass and Catherine Willows—thinking of them caused Sara to smile. They had promised to visit. Catherine had stayed at the lab for six months before turning the director position over to Greg and was now involved in the 'family business'. Grissom laughed every time it was mentioned.

Breaking into her thoughts, Edie called for her to see what she'd been building so for a while Sara sat on the floor and played with her daughter. They counted similar colors, containers that would hold things—Edie's favorite toys were food boxes—and which boxes would fit inside another box. Counting and naming colors were Edie's favorite things to do while sitting with her mother.

Sara suggested, "Let's count our beans before we cook them."

Standing on a stool, Edie counted and recounted beans as her mother rinsed them. Teresa had made empanadas with sweet peppers and squash, cooked rice, and prepared a creamy soup before leaving, so Sara washed and snapped the fresh beans into small pieces as her daughter counted snapped beans, counting to twenty several times.

After eating, she rolled Edie along the sidewalk of the local markets where they waved to sellers and venders they knew. The main tourist street was wider; the sidewalk was new and smooth, curving around the bay where dozens of boats bobbed in clear blue water waiting for passengers. It was another beautiful ending to a near-perfect day; a cloudless sky and a slight breeze. Flowers bloomed in abundance anywhere there was soil, vines grew up walls and over awnings, ending in clouds of purples and pinks. People were eating dinner in open-air cafes and shopping for tee-shirts and souvenirs with tortoises and boobies, iguanas and Darwin's finches printed on them.

Arriving at the ice cream store, Edie counted the containers—every day there were twelve flavors and, after counting, she requested her favorite color—the bright golden mango ice cream. Sara got the same and they walked to a nearby bench to watch fishermen bringing in their daily catch.

A large sea lion climbed onto another bench, barking as the fishermen came in, waiting for one to toss a fish his way. Tourists took photographs of the sea lion's pranks to attract attention and Edie and Sara laughed at the entertainment.

Sara hugged her beautiful daughter, again thankful for a happy child who loved ice cream and laughed at sea lions. Edie licked her ice cream, eyes wide as she studied everything around her. Sara watched the sea lion and fishermen for several minutes, finished her ice cream, and glanced at the sidewalk, filled with even more people; a second wave of tourists from one of the cruise ships in the harbor, she thought. A moment later, her eyes picked out a man walking behind the tourists; she recognized the gait—she'd recognize the way those legs moved in a crowd of thousands.

Holding Edie's hand, she stood, shouting, "Gil!"

Instantly, his head turned, met her eyes, and waved. A moment later he was beside them, lifting Edie into a hug as his duffle fell from his shoulder.

Sara placed the duffle in the stroller and waited until father and daughter had their homecoming welcome. Edie pointed to the sea lion, telling her dad about the fish eating antics, mimicking the bark before she collapsed into giggles. Her hands stayed on Grissom's face; her fingers touching his beard, his nose, and forehead as if she were imprinting his features into her brain.

When he turned to Sara, Edie remained firmly against his shoulder, her head tucked next to his chin. His free arm surrounded Sara as he said, "How are you, dear?"

A smile and a nod answered him. "We expected you tomorrow! How'd you get back?"

Kissing her before answering, he said, "Small fast boat—you'll hear it all later." And somehow he managed to envelope her and Edie in his arms, kissing Sara's lips until Edie squealed at being squashed. Grissom turned his face to Edie's and began to kiss her all over her face, something she loved, until she was hiccupping with giggles.

In no hurry, they ambled back to the house, Sara pushing the stroller with the duffle bag and Grissom carrying his young daughter. Another two hours passed before Sara and Grissom finally sat at the dining table as he related details of his trip. While Sara had put Edie to bed, he'd showered and changed clothes.

Spreading butter on a hunk of bread, he said, "Remember when the FBI would come to Vegas on a case?"

Sara nodded as she placed a bowl of soup and a plate of fruit in front of him.

Slowly he chewed a bite of bread and stirred the soup. "We got there and had a good search—found several threads, a foot print, and a trail where the group had come from a protected bay. One of the men on the island had used a drone to look over the area—that's how they determined the number of tortoises missing—so the locals had done a good job before we'd arrived."

He took a minute to swallow a spoonful of soup before continuing, "We went back yesterday and found nothing else—nothing. By the time the feds arrived from Quito—that was mid-afternoon yesterday—we'd made a plaster cast of the print, marked everything with orange streamers, and made a good effort on locating a lot of boats that had been in the bay. Photographs—tourists take a lot of photographs—so Jose and Sam were working on contacts at the airport to appeal to tourists for some of those photos."

Sara nodded; the islands had an excellent tracking method for arriving and departing tourists. She also knew the thieves would not enter the islands as tourists.

He made a sad-sounding chuckle. "Then the feds arrived—you remember how the FBI would come in and take over? Same kind of guys work in Ecuador—arrived in clothes that looked like no one ever sweats or gets dirty—tiptoed around the area afraid their dress shoes would step in tortoise poop! Then wanted everything we had—which we were happy to do—and thank goodness Carlos had made copies of everything.

"By noon today, they were ready to leave." He paused, took another spoonful of soup, and continued. "They didn't close the case but they pretty much took everything back with them and were nice about saying 'thanks but we've got it'. So we hitched a ride back here on their boat."

For a moment, Sara looked at him, wide-eyed, before saying, "And that's it?"

"Of course not," Grissom grinned. "The others agreed when I quietly suggested we back off and once they left, we'd do what we did in Vegas—continue with our investigation."

 _A/N: We remember how well Grissom loved having the FBI on one of his cases! Thanks for reading-and-as always, please leave a comment!_


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N: Thank you for reading and for your comments! Enjoy!**_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 5**

There was no such thing as a long, hot shower on an island with limited fresh water but Gil Grissom did his best to stretch the limit by turning the water off before he soaped his body. Then, bracing for the burst of cool water before the heated water kicked in, he backed into the spray and rinsed quickly. Wrapping a towel around his waist, using another one to towel dry his hair, he turned to Sara.

She'd stood in the doorway, watching, listening to him talk about the details of the past few days as he stressed about his frustration with the men who had come from Quito.

"I'm sure they will catch who did this but, I'm afraid, it will be when the tortoises reach the end of this—this escapade! And it will be used to criticize the locals."

Sara reached for the towel he held in his hands, put it around his shoulders and lifted it to his hair. She said, "Do you think it was locals?"

His hands covered hers. Pulling the towel away, he hung it on a rack behind her, and wrapped his arms around Sara. "I don't think it was locals—we think it's someone who has visited the center. Someone who visited several times—who wasn't a tourist but passed as one—someone who scouted the place out and returned with others to take all they could carry."

Pausing long enough to kiss her, he said, "I know it's only animals—it gets to me the same as cutting off a shark's fin."

Sighing, Sara tucked her face against his neck and nuzzled his ear lobe. "I can fix you something to eat."

A soft chuckle rose from deep in Grissom's chest. He said, "I don't want anything to eat. But I can think of something else I'd like to do with you." His hand slipped up her arm, under the sleeve of her sleep shirt before he turned so he could see her face. "Are you certain your doctor says sex is okay?"

She laughed, saying, "Yes, Gilbert! We've done this before—had sex until a week before Edie was born. Everything was fine." She giggled. "And all the ladies at the clinic believe lots of sex makes a better pregnancy."

He pulled her into a close hug, asking, "And why is that?"

Another giggle, somewhat muted by her lips next to his, as she said, "All the hormones—and keeping the pelvic floor toned—their words were 'you won't pee yourself after having babies'. I'm pretty sure that's how it would be interpreted."

"Come on," Grissom whispered as he moved toward the bedroom. "We've got hours to ourselves."

Very slowly, they made their way to the bedroom; from a distance, they could hear the rhythm of a Latin-influenced song. Using the shifting pressure of his hands, he molded her to his body, securing their balance as they slow-danced across the room. Grissom did not have much to remove but did manage to throw his towel onto a chair. He turned to find Sara looking sultry and sensual, suggesting an expectation of pleasure. They met somewhere on the bed, hands and mouths working and too giddy with getting what they wanted to be graceful or clever.

He wanted her too much to be seductive; the way she was, shadows and light, angles and curves. They didn't stay in one place for long—she straddled his chest, slid her bottom to his groin where his strong erection quivered, seeking its own direction. They rolled, laughing as she spread her legs and then she gasped and shuddered, pressing her fingers through his hair as she arched her body for him. He held back, supporting his weight on knees and elbows as she came again and a second time, finally insisting—whispering to him as they rolled again, face-to-face—and then he saw stars.

Afterwards, he moved to withdraw from her but she hitched her leg over his hip, whispering, "No, not yet." She felt him smile against her cheek.

"Go to sleep," he said as he kissed her

…The small town of Puerto Ayora located on the southern coast of the small island of Santa Cruz had the largest number of tourist hotels, shops, and restaurants of The Galapagos. Several blocks north of the bay, the markets, cafes and bars, hardware and supply stores used by the local population were located.

Gil Grissom knew if answers were to be found, if the thieves had any connections to the islands, it would be found in this area. He and Sam had made daily visits showing photographs and talking about the tortoises for two weeks only to hear disbelief and horror that the theft had occurred. No one seemed to know anything; no gossip, no suspects…nothing.

Two weeks after the trip to Isabela Island, the dining room at the Grissom home had been turned into an unofficial evidence room. Photographs of the crime scene decorated one wall. A copy of the shoe cast was posted on another wall surrounded by photos of similar shoes which had come from Greg Sanders in Las Vegas. And one long wall was covered with printed photos received from tourists—the local rangers appeal to tourists had gathered hundreds of their photographs of the bay where the thieves had probably come ashore. There was an enlarged photo of the threads found caught on thorns. And at any time, when one of the men had an hour, which often meant lunch time, Sara knew one or two or all five would be congregated around the long wood table attempting to develop possible scenarios.

After searching through the tourists' photos, they had identified most of the boats, ships, and yachts moored in the bay for three days around the theft. They had shared this information with the federal officers in Quito and gotten little response. When Greg had sent photos of similar shoes, Grissom and the rangers had made a quiet decision to keep those photos; the federal agents would have their own sources.

Late one afternoon, Grissom and Sara pushed Edie in her stroller to one of the local cafes with chairs and tables set out under an awning. No tourists visited this narrow street where locals shopped for groceries and children played on the dusty sidewalks. Bicycles and motor scooters were the most common form of transportation; entire families rode by on one bicycle or scooter, carefully balancing small children between adults. Grissom made a comment about free entertainment as a woman on a scooter rode by with a small girl between her knees. The child's hands were on the controls while her mother texted on her cell phone.

Grissom ordered a local beer, two glasses of passion fruit juice and a plate of sweet empanadas. For an hour the small family watched, greeted passersby, and enjoyed the casual ambiance of the small town. Early on, their waiter had asked if Grissom was one of the men hunting the tortoise thieves; nearly everyone in town knew of the search for information.

As they were preparing to leave, paying the bill, a young man wearing a backpack stumbled into the stroller. His words of apology were mumbled as he swung around to face Sara and bumped into Grissom as he moved away, a plea of incoherent forgiveness mumbled in Spanish.

For a moment, they were confused by the young man's words, but thought the young man had probably had a few beers, thanked the waiter and pushed the stroller to the sidewalk. Once there, Grissom saw a folded paper stuck to the shade of the stroller; for a second, he thought it was trash, but handed it to Sara, saying, "Is this yours?"

Shaking her head, Sara unfolded the paper, read it, and stopped walking. "Gil," she whispered as she reached for his arm. "You need to read this—now!" She pressed the paper into his hand.

And reading the words written on the back of a receipt for beans, the first hint of new evidence fell into place.

 _A/N: Thanks for reading! We enjoy your comments-gives us encouragement to continue!_


	6. Chapter 6

_**A/N: A new chapter! Enjoy!**_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 6**

Before daybreak, Gil Grissom was sitting on the dock that stretched out into the harbor, sharing a bench with an ever-changing tourist group of potential divers. It was a magnificent morning, as if gold dust had been shaken out of a heavenly sifter to provide dawn's light. Quiet voices sounded; the slap of waves against jetties and piers seemed muted until the sun cleared the horizon.

He knew he was being watched—Sara, for one. Whoever had sent the note was around, probably watching from a nearby boat. Sara had insisted on coming with him but he'd insisted she watch from the grocery store.

"The note said come alone—that means me, Sara. Not you, not Edie."

She was persistent. "You are not meeting some unknown thug in semi-darkness surrounded by a bunch of tourists intent on getting on a boat and little else!"

It was easier to give in; they walked to the grocery store and once she and Edie were inside, he crossed the street to the dock. He knew she was watching from a small table in the coffee shop.

He knew someone else was watching—the person on one of the boats, or perhaps he'd come from one of the streets that ended at the dock. Grissom was not going to turn around to search windows and doorways. The simple instructions had been: "Be on the dock alone when the sun comes up. I have information. No one else."

He and Sara had spent an hour trying to remember details of the man who had bumped into the stroller. Sara was certain he was young and had not spoken Spanish as a native—or at least wasn't from the islands. They talked about the waiter, deciding the inquiry might mean something—or nothing—because Grissom had been everywhere asking for information. And they had added the note and their musings to others posted on the dining room wall.

After two cups of tea, Sara needed to use the toilet, but her husband sat on the bench and waited so she'd wait too, watching the small boats arrive and leave from the various boarding piers. No one approached Grissom. Time and activity seem to slow to a crawl.

Groups of tourists came in waves, filled the smaller boats which powered out to the larger boats where another transfer was made before leaving the harbor. Early morning was busy—everyone getting an early start to the best dive spots.

Edie made a noise and Sara looked down at her daughter. "More croissant?" Sara asked, breaking off a piece and spreading soft butter on it before handing it to her daughter.

"Dada," the little girl said as she pointed across the street. "We go, too?"

Smiling, Sara said, "No, he's waiting for someone. We'll watch and then walk home together."

In the seconds it took for this exchange, a small red truck stopped in the street, leaving the engine running as an old man got out of the truck, shuffled around to the back, and hauled two crates from the truck. He put them in a corner of the pavilion where the seabird sculpture made from cigarette butts had been constructed.

Sara watched as the old man headed back to the truck, turned her attention to the arriving boats, and a few seconds passed before she realized the man wasn't returning to his truck. He had made a left turn, walked toward the dock, and disappeared behind a crowd of tourists with snorkeling equipment.

Sara stood, trying to see Grissom. The bench was empty where he had been sitting. Her eyes searched for him along the docks and loading piers but she could not find him.

Quickly, she grabbed the stroller, pushed it around a few customers and out the door. Just as she got to the sidewalk, the door to the truck slammed, loud as a gunshot. She glanced in the direction of the noise in time to see her husband sitting in the truck as the old man ground gears and the truck jumped into forward motion.

In the moments that followed, she watched as her husband's hand appeared out of the window, waving—no, she quickly realized—he wasn't waving. He was holding up two fingers, a peace sign. Over and over he made the specific and clear sign for peace then pointed forward as the truck sped down the street and made a sharp left turn. She did not know where Carlos, Sam, and Jose had been but all three were in the street in front of her; all three were talking and gesticulating with frustration and alarm.

Minutes of chaos followed with Sam running, following the direction of the truck to where it had turned the corner; Jose ran in the opposite direction. Carlos spoke to Sara in rapid Spanish; she had to ask twice for him to slow down, finally breaking in to say:

"Grissom wasn't waving—he was holding up two fingers—the peace sign—I'm sure of it."

Carlos looked at her with confusion, shaking his head as he said, "Peace? What could that mean?"

"I don't know—is there a street? Or highway?" As Sara said this, she knew it did not mean a street or a highway or even a building's name.

Jose arrived in his truck, waving for Carlos to get in.

"Find him, please," Sara called after them as Jose floored the accelerator. Carlos had his cell phone to his ear calling for assistance. Sara's knowledge of the islands law enforcement knew the department had two small trucks and four or five bicycles and a full-time staff of six.

She stood on the sidewalk for a few minutes trying to replay this turn of events. The men would follow the truck—it had turned at the corner that led to the main highway. On the island there was only one highway that crossed over the highlands to the airport. She could not imagine why the driver would go in the most obvious direction on a highway that ended, which meant he would stay in town, perhaps turning into a fenced yard or garage. Then she remembered the many dirt trails and farm roads. Perhaps the driver would turn down one of dozens of trails that zigzagged around the island—which meant he could disappear quickly and completely.

She sighed, took a deep breath to calm her shaking hands, and pushed Edie over to the dock. She had a baby in a stroller. She was seven months pregnant and had no vehicle. The three men should be able to catch up with Grissom and the driver. She took several deep breaths; she would not panic.

If she thought about what could happen—she would not think about what could happen.

Turning to Edie, she got her daughter out of the stroller and started talking to her about the silly red crabs on the rocks along the dock. And while she managed to maintain an easy-going tone, her mind remained on her husband.

'What was he thinking, getting in the truck with the old guy?' She thought. 'And giving me the peace…' Her thoughts stopped, remembering the crates. 'It wasn't peace…it was two.'

Glancing at the pavilion, the two crates were still there, untouched. Two crates; two fingers. A few seconds later, she and Edie were standing next to the crates. A brown paper grocery bag was folded inside each one and, without thinking, Sara's curiosity caused her to open the top bag, carefully using only her fingertips.

She blinked several times, trying to bring into focus the contents of the brown bag—her brain tried to conceptualize what her eyes were seeing.

Edie said something; Sara reached over to pat the child's hand then she lifted the heavy crate and carefully tipped it on its side before stepping back to the stroller.

Bending to her daughter's level, Sara said, "Watch, Edie. What is coming out of the bag?"

The paper bag wiggled and crinkled for a few moments before a dark head appeared; the slow moving tortoise stopped with his head and front legs out of the bag, eyes blinking at the light.

Sara looked around; the dock, which had been streaming with people for more than an hour, appeared to be suddenly abandoned. A few boats bobbed near the piers, but no tourist groups, no guides, not one person was within her vision.

Edie squealed with delight, leaning forward in her stroller, as the tortoise crept forward. She'd been around ones at the research center and knew the gentle creatures were harmless.

Sara reached for her cell phone, scrolled until she found the number for the director of the Darwin Research Center, and pressed the screen to make the call.

 _ **A/N: Thanks for reading...please review and comment! A few more chapters in this story.**_


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N: Thank you for reading! And a special thanks to those who review!**_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 7**

The harbor glittered as the sun rose; gentle swells beyond indicated another beautiful day to be on a boat or in the water. It was an enchanting and fascinating place; the summits of huge volcanoes spit out of the ocean millions of years ago.

Gil Grissom watched tourists and guides fill boats and sail away—motor away, he corrected his thoughts. No one seemed to notice him, even as several people sat on the same bench to adjust equipment or change shoes. Then an old man appeared—probably no older than he was but dark tanned and weather-beaten—speaking in Spanish about tortoises. Clearly, Grissom understood the man to say he had found tortoises in an unusual area; thought they were some of the ones stolen from Isabela Island. The man had pointed to his truck, indicating he'd drive Grissom to the spot.

Trusting his instincts, Grissom got in the truck, raised his hand, knowing at least three men and Sara were watching him. Two fingers—twins—hoping they would understand the message.

Twin Craters. Not really craters but two massive, deep sink holes caused by lava over thousands of years. The two areas were unique for the variety of plants and birds, misty and cloudy almost every day—and no tortoises. Both places were nearly inaccessible; few people had been to the bottom of either crater.

By the time they were out of town, the old man had introduced himself as Juan Pento, a life-long farmer in the highlands. A small herd of dairy cows, a few chickens, a field of banana plants, and, the newest endeavor, coffee, made up his farm. He talked; Grissom listened.

The drive was thirty minutes from the town; Grissom tried sending text messages every few minutes only to get the 'no service' message. Poor cell service was part of island living, but Sara had seen him leave; she'd seen the others follow him. She would know he was okay.

The coastal desert of sand, gravel, and cacti gradually changed to a landscape of scrubby, green hills scattered with rocks, a few farms with small fields, and clusters of three and four house communities tucked off the main highway. The windshield of the truck covered with moisture several times and one wiper blade slapped across the glass.

The farmer told his story of finding tortoises. One of Pento's cows had disappeared the week before and the old man had spent time every day searching for the cow. His farm wasn't large and backed up to protected park land where the giant tortoises had migration paths to the coast. He insisted he was always careful and followed the rules for farming.

Grissom knew about the island's farmers—hard work with little to show for their labor. Rocky ground and little modern equipment made long days of manual labor. Fences were built to allow free roaming for the tortoises which meant pastures were never secure places should a cow decide to roam.

Pento had decided to search the craters, knowing his cow would not survive a fall, but cows were also hardy, nimble creatures and he knew there were rocky trails to the bottom of the craters. He'd already searched one and two days ago, had ventured into the second crater where he'd found the tortoises.

Grissom asked no questions, letting the man talk as he pulled off the highway and parked in a muddy area. Grissom was always surprised at the abundance of lush green plants on this part of the island, high above the ocean.

"Did you see anyone else?" Grissom asked, thankful his Spanish had improved in recent months of working on the islands.

Shaking his head, Pento pointed to the fence around the crater. "No one. The path is over there."

Grissom stalled, hoping the others were following the truck. Once more, he tapped out a message to Sara and this time, on top of the island, three bars popped up and his text was sent.

…After talking with the director of the research center, Sara was relieved to some extent. He was already on his way to the highway chasing the old red truck and said he would send two people to her.

Sara lifted Edie out of her stroller and let her follow the tortoise as it headed to a patch of grass while she tried to call Grissom. His phone rang several times before she heard the 'no service' tone.

Watching the tortoise, Edie said, "Long neck," and stretched her neck as she knelt beside the animal.

"Why does he have a long neck?" Sara asked.

The little girl lifted her chin, giggled, and looked upward. "To eat plants, Mommy!"

As if following her directions, the tortoise extended its neck and took a bite of a low-growing cactus. Edie laughed and imitated eating.

Just then, a young man and woman arrived on bicycles. Sara had met both of them previously, and immediately caught their excitement about the tortoise. Sara showed them the second crate—and a second tortoise inside a brown paper bag.

The woman, Liz, checked her phone. "They have the truck, Sara! Not even speeding—heading up the highway. Jose thinks he's a farmer up in the highlands." She looked at Sara, a frown on her face, as she said, "Where is he going? Last count, several thousand tortoises are up in the highlands—so what's he going to do? Show Dr. Grissom the one's in his pasture?"

The young man had knelt next to the tortoise on the grass. He said, "This one came from Isabela—the marking number has been painted over." He was using a small knife to fleck away brown paint.

Tortoises had been 'tagged' with paint for years until new, electronic tagging had been developed but the ones on Isabela Island were still painted with numbers with the specific color assigned to the island.

"Two of them," Sara said, amazement slipping into her voice. "Maybe they didn't go to China—or Singapore—or wherever it is people eat turtles."

Edie was busy plucking leaves from a bush and pushing them into the bag holding the second tortoise.

Pablo, the young man, walked to the street and in a few minutes had a taxi—one of the white trucks—stopped and placed both crates into the back. A few minutes later, he left on his bicycle, following the truck to the research center.

Liz stayed with Sara, saying, "I'll stay with you—until we hear from Dr. Grissom." She smiled, "I could use a cup of coffee."

Sara remembered her need to use the bathroom—it seemed like hours had passed since she'd thought her bladder was about to pop. "I need a bathroom," she said.

"Use the one at the grocery store—it's close and clean this early in the day," Liz suggested with a laugh. "I'll watch Edie—see if we can see fish in the water."

When Sara was walking back, the text message came from her husband. He was at Twin Craters—not a peace sign, not two, but 'twin' had been his message with his two fingers. He was fine, he'd texted, with an old farmer who was going to show him where he had found tortoises.

Before she got to Liz, she got another text telling her the others had arrived.

Liz had gotten a similar message from the director.

"I think I can eat now," Sara said as she lifted Edie into her arms and kissed her daughter's cheek. "Have you eaten at the place with the bougainvillea tree over its patio? Great coffee and pancakes."

Edie made a silly sound and said, "Banana and pancakes, please." She held up her hands, saying, "Wash before eating."

"Yes," Sara said, "we'll wash our hands before we eat bananas and pancakes."

Reaching out and patting the little girl's bottom, Liz laughed. "I have four kids—teenagers now—stair steps, they were. I don't remember a bad day when they were this age—hectic, but fun."

She continued talking about her children as they walked to the café. Sara knew it was done to take her mind away from what had just happened and she was thankful, willing to be content with that.

 _A/N: A different Sara from the one we loved in Vegas! Motherhood and hormones change actions! We appeciate hearing from you- a few more chapters to this one._


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N: Thank you for reading...the search is on!**_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 8**

Fifteen people gathered around an assortment of vehicles to hear the farmer's story. When asked why he'd brought two tortoises to the harbor, his simple explanation was: "In case no one believed me—I carried two to show the man."

No one wanted to miss out on working on the most important theft in decades. Someone passed out bottles of water and energy bars as they discussed trails into the crater. Two of the younger men volunteered to follow a winding path to the floor, a slithering labyrinth over and around boulders the size of houses and meet the others at the far end of the crater.

In Grissom's mind, he was sure the entire Dodger Stadium would easily fit in the huge crater with room to spare.

He and the others headed to a longer trail that zigzagged through brambles and thick trees, circled half of the crater on a wide ledge before descending a gradual slope to the bottom. The group spread out, walking single file behind the farmer, as the sun warmed everything and everyone. They moved slowly; the going becoming increasingly difficult. Their feet slipped on slick stones, they breathed hard, and once, one of the men fell and swore.

At some point, when they were on the ledge, one of the men looked up and made a surprised sound, causing the others to stop and look up. Along the edge of the crater were twenty or thirty people, standing, watching. A few waved.

One of the local law enforcement officers said, "Everyone must have heard about this."

Grissom shook his head and grinned. The island was small with its own method of communication—and not much happened. As the group moved on, he hoped they found tortoises.

Gradually, they made progress. An occasional breeze came into the crater and brought cool air. They stopped for a rest and could hear the rustlings and sounds of birds. In the distance, they heard a vague sound and it took several minutes for it to become the trickle of hundreds of water drops, from leaves on trees, from rocks on the crater walls.

The crowd at the top of the crater had grown to a substantial number and it was possible, Grissom thought, that they were being watched by someone who had been involved in the theft.

The two men who had gone down the quick way were waiting at the slope and had rigged a rope 'hand rail' for an easier descent to the floor of the crater. From above, the area appeared to be a chaotic mass of plant growth. Taller trees were crowded with dense layers of shorter growth of ferns and vines, each seeking the sun. Flowers grew and circled toward the sky as if they were strings of lights on Christmas trees.

The plant growth was dense yet at ground level, a soft carpet of decomposing leaves made travel easier than expected.

Looking around at the others, Grissom could no longer tell where perspiration left off and the humid moisture from the vegetation began. The atmosphere was steamy but adrenaline kept everyone moving forward, following the farmer Pento who did not appear to be as tired or as sweaty as the others.

Finally, Pento stopped, waved his hand and stepped into a small clearing where grass grew several feet high. Grissom understood this was the place—or nearly the place—and then he saw the small pond. Around the edge of the water were a dozen tortoises; in the water were another six or eight. More were in the shade of trees. All were about the size of a dinner plate with a dark mottled cloche dome. On close inspection, all had been covered with brown paint to hide numbers.

The group seemed to inhale a collective breath before someone spoke.

"How many?" was said in a loud whisper.

"Thirty," came as a reply. "Maybe more."

With little discussion, the group spread out and in ten minutes, another five tortoises had been added to the number. In widening circles, the men and women walked, finding more tortoises.

As the count increased, Grissom asked, "What do we do now?"

The chief park ranger and the director of the research center had already devised a plan.

The ranger said, "We're not leaving them here. I've got a feeling we've been watched—so they go out with us. If we can carry two—maybe three…" He sighed as he attempted to figure out how many trips would be made.

"We'll put them in one of the fenced areas back at the center and check them out before hauling them back to Isabela." The research director shook his head, saying, "I doubt we'll ever know who stole them—or why they ended up here."

Grissom quietly mumbled. He'd thought the area would be considered a crime scene—or at least an area for potential evidence but that had quickly dispelled with people trampling all over the area. This was a rescue operation. "Or how," he said.

Another man in the group gave a shout and pointed to the crowd at the top of the crater. No longer confined to the edge, a line of people snaked down the trail to the ledge before disappearing in the tree cover. Several people in the group gave a relieved shout.

"It's the island rescue squad," the park ranger said. "They will help—last year they got a cow and calf out of the other crater." He chuckled. "I think we can get this done by mid-afternoon."

The tortoises stoically ignored the activity going on around the area, choosing to munch on tall grass; a few shy ones withdrew into shells. Two of the animals hissed and pulled their heads into their carapaces when lifted from the muddy pond. Another hour passed as the tortoises were corralled into the space around the pond.

Forty-four—more than anyone had dared estimate—had been found.

Someone pulled a paint pen from a backpack and the park ranger began to write a number on each shell.

As the group began to prepare to hike out, carrying a tortoise under each arm, they heard the near-by shouts of the arriving rescue squad. And they came well prepared.

Food, water, and, best of all, nets and portable stretchers meant for carrying injured humans came out of backpacks. Plans changed as the rescue squad leader told of the crowd waiting at the top of the crater.

"Some of them will meet us to help with the last climb." He looked around, finding the director of the research center before saying, "Your wife and Dr. Grissom's wife are up there, too." He laughed, pointing to Grissom. "Your wife," he made a motion over his abdomen indicating a round belly, "she is very much, yes—and she wasn't sitting at home waiting for you! No! She was very determined to come." He laughed again. "She's a good woman, Mr. Grissom."

Gil Grissom agreed.

…Within fifteen minutes of ordering pancakes and bananas, three more women joined Sara at her table. In minutes, she knew this wasn't just coincidence—all three had husbands who had chased the red truck. Two had brought their children.

The café was a large open-air dining room with a broad strip of flowering plants going down to the water. A low wall separated the tables from the sidewalk. A few tourists were eating in the area nearest the harbor; Sara and the women sat at tables next to the sidewalk while the children played in the corner.

Sara felt better in the company of the other women who were telling stories of their husbands and children. She ate, fed Edie in moments when her daughter remembered pancakes and bananas, and laughed at the humorous narratives.

When a white truck stopped in the street, all of them halted their actions as a man jumped from the driver's seat and headed in their direction. The side of the truck was emblazoned with a colorful "Santa Cruz Rescue Squad" sign.

In rapid Spanish, the man told them a group had gone into the crater and the rescue squad was going to help.

"Is anyone injured?" one woman asked.

"No, no!" He changed to English. "Maybe we can help—we hauled the cow and calf out of the crater last year—maybe today it will be tortoises. Easier than some crazy American tourist who had to be carried out earlier this year." Shrugging his shoulders, he added, "Maybe they find all the tortoises."

The mother of two of the children stood up, saying, "I'm going with you—I want to see what's happening."

In a moment, all of the women agreed they would go while the man attempted to persuade them otherwise; Sara folded the stroller and asked the café manager if she could leave it in the corner.

She threw a bag over her shoulder and lifted Edie, saying, "I'm not missing this excitement."

After a few minutes of back and forth exchange, the man realized he was conquered and called for a second vehicle.

The café manager, overhearing the conversation, filled a box with bottled water, bags of cheesy bread, patacones, and fruit pies. While waiting for the second truck, he brought out bowls of ice creams for the children.

As the trucks left town, women and children crowded together on the second row seat, Sara realized there seemed to be a festive feeling on the streets. People were shopping, waving at the trucks as they passed, not with worry or concern but with happy smiles and calls. On the highway, they joined what counted as a traffic jam on the island—a line of cars, trucks, and motorcycles were headed in the same direction. Even the bike path was busier than usual.

"Everyone has heard," said the driver. "The tortoises have been found—everyone wants to see!"

The children caught the sense of excitement, waving at the bikers, and giggling when waves were returned. Several miles before the craters, vehicles had pulled to the side of the road and people were walking. The rescue trucks drove on; blowing horns, and shouting at people and vehicles in the way, which excited the children even more.

At the craters, the road was nearly blocked with traffic and people but with more horn blowing and more shouting, enough space was found for the two trucks. Tourists and locals were lined along the crater, looking down, as spectators in the upper decks of a ball park.

Sara kept Edie in her arms as she found a vantage point only to realize there was nothing to see but the tops of trees. Occasionally, someone would shout or point at movement below. After a while, she realized someone was communicating by satellite radio and announcing what was happening inside the crater.

The morning warmed as mists cleared and the excitement of the morning turned into a laid-back party. Sara carried Edie until the child's eyes dropped in sleep. She strolled around the crowd until she found other mothers sitting in the dappled shade of a tree and joined them with their sleeping children to wait.

As others talked, Sara watched the crowd, looking for anyone who might be out-of-place or showing more than friendly interest in what was happening. She had almost given up, shifted Edie to her lap, when she noticed two people who seemed oddly recognizable among the crowd of tourists and locals; instinct, a faint memory fluttered in her brain. She wished for the stroller she'd left at the cafe as she struggled to her feet.

 _ **A/N: We appreciate hearing from you! Enjoy...and leave a comment!**_


	9. Chapter 9

_**A/N: Thank you to everyone who continues to enjoy this story!**_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 9**

Standing under the shower, Greg Sanders had the thought that this was the first time he'd felt cool in twenty-four hours. After working a long shift on two bodies in the desert, he had joined a softball game being played between law enforcement and crime lab employees. His energy was sapped, but he turned off the water and quickly dried himself, dressed in clean clothes and headed to his office.

After taking over as the lab director, he worked around the clock. Not consistently, but enough to keep everyone on their toes; he would show up for the day shift and, when everyone thought he'd leave, he stayed for the night shift, slept a few hours, and would be on grave before the team left. Never one for requiring a lot of sleep, he had grown to enjoy the fluctuation in hours, the ebb and flow of cases, in a job he had never really sought. There was always someone with more experience, more ambition ahead of him until one day, Catherine Willows called him into her office and laid her resignation in front of him.

She said, "It's your time, Greg. Take it."

He did and he had not looked back.

At his desk, he found a report he had requested, flipped it open, and began to read. Sometime later, he leaned back and thought about what he had discovered.

He had been surprised to hear from Gil Grissom. His former supervisor wasn't a person who asked for assistance and the request had been a simple one. Greg had tracked down the shoe make, model, and size in a few minutes. He had also asked Grissom for copies of any other evidence that had been found which turned out to be very little. He'd also done some research and learned about the giant tortoises and the come-back from near extinction that had occurred.

Grissom had sent photographs of the threads found on the island. If Greg had not known of Grissom's persistent methods of searching a crime scene, he would think evidence had been missed. But if the man said, "This is what was found" Greg knew it was true. A common shoe print in mud, a lot of photographs of cruise ships, and a few threads caught on a thorny bush had been the whole of evidence.

Greg had discussed all of it with Jim Brass, who still worked for Catherine, at breakfast one morning. To his surprise, Jim had been interested in the story of the tortoises and the next day, had come around asking for the photo of the threads.

"I have a few contacts who do unusual things—I want to show this to one of them."

A few days later, again at breakfast, Jim opened an envelope and slid three threads onto a napkin. "Replicas—made with a 3D printer."

"Well, I'll be damn."

The older man grinned, saying, "She thinks its wax coated—and not clothing."

When Greg said nothing, Brass continued, "A woman I've known for years is a textile expert. She's into…" he picked up the threads, "fabrics—mostly expensive stuff. When I told her the story, she said she'd bet a paycheck it came from a wax coated duffel bag. Large size—big enough to hold tortoises." He chuckled, "Her paycheck is a big one."

Greg stammered a moment as he tried to collect his thoughts around what Jim had said. "So the thieves carried the tortoises in duffel bags—what does that tell us? How many duffel bags are made and sold in a year?"

Brass reached his hand into his shirt pocket and brought out a folded paper, holding it between two fingers. "She gave me the top ten brands—she's that certain these came from one of those."

Eyes widened as Greg's thoughts gathered, solidified into words. "Whoever purchased one—might have purchased a dozen. And used those duffels…" his voice trailed off. He said, "If these are expensive, then the companies might track sales—like with a Rolex watch."

"And," Jim Brass chuckled, "not all thieves are smart. Some might have sent in registration cards to cover warranty."

Greg laughed along with Jim and then the two got to work, both having another laugh at the unlikely probability of solving a case thousands of miles away with a few threads.

…Gil Grissom was no longer a young man but he was in good physical shape and the climb into the crater had not been much of an effort. The climb up, as he was finding out, was a grueling task. His lungs ached; the backs of his legs stung with every step. His arms strained to haul the load he carried. But he pushed on, determined not to rest until everyone else stopped. He looked down at the floor of the crater where the tall trees looked like toys he could hold in his hand.

There was little talk; everyone in the group had discussed in a hundred ways what would happen next, how had the thieves gotten the animals into the crater, where were the others—no one had answers.

The climb up would take longer, he thought, as he looked at the sun, already into the afternoon. He tilted his head and squinted toward the top rim where a crowd of people had created a lively audience. When the wind blew in a certain direction, they could hear the murmuring cloud of sounds coming from what sounded like a good-natured party. Obviously, the search and recovery of the giant tortoises had been the biggest event to happen in weeks. He managed a smile—probably in years, he thought.

Just as he thought he was going to have to step aside to rest, someone ahead of him called for a rest stop. Everyone in the group groaned with appreciation. Water bottles and energy bars appeared and were consumed in a short time. After fifteen minutes, the group picked up their bundles and continued their trek, each person carrying two tortoises in makeshift netting. The rescue squad used their stretchers to haul several of the largest animals. Grissom admired their stamina.

…As Sara made her way through the crowd, the two people she'd noticed disappeared before she glimpsed them meandering along the path that circled the crater. At least a hundred people were doing the same. She followed, walking faster, again, wishing for the stroller. She almost called out but decided against it; what if she was wrong? She'd seem like the loco American tourist.

When the older man turned, she abruptly stopped, not believing her eyes. Suddenly, she felt dizzy. Her vision blurred for a few seconds; she tightened her grip on Edie as she tried to find something for support and, for one of the few times in her life, she thought she might faint as an emotional reaction to who her eyes were seeing thirty yards away.

Someone touched her arm, asking her a question in Spanish. Responding with a nod, she took two deep breaths, looked up at the sky, and then looked at the two men again. It wasn't a dream. This time, she did shout. Loud. Laughing as she started to run—not really running—a pregnant woman holding a toddler could walk fast, but not run. She held Edie against her shoulder, jostling the little girl as she wound around the procession of people.

Around her, people parted, as all she could hear was her voice and the sound of her feet on the gravel path.

Then she was hugging Jim Brass and hugging Greg Sanders and their words were tumbling out, making no sense to them or anyone else as the unanticipated, joyous explosion of discovering old friends in the most far-flung place on earth took place. Edie woke up, wanted to be fussy but was quickly humored into giggles as the two men gave her their undivided attention.

There were few people Sara loved deeply; first place was firmly held by her husband and daughter, but next would be Jim and Greg. With Jim, she felt a relationship kin to that of daughter-to-father and as a sister to Greg. Jim had been a regular visitor to the home she and Grissom had made in LA while Greg, after becoming lab director, had not visited with them as frequently, he'd kept in close touch. Yet their appearance had put Sara into a state of shock; no one came to the Galapagos Islands without preparation, nevertheless, they were standing in front of her.

Finally, in a pause that lasted no longer than fifteen seconds, Sara managed to ask, "What are you doing here? Why didn't you let me know? Does Gil know?"

Jim Brass had managed to entice Edie from her mother's arms and had her squealing with delight playing a game of kisses and weird noises. Sara could not seem to keep her hands from touching the two men.

Greg answered her questions. He said, "We decided we had to come! We," he laughed, "We think we've cracked the case! And we brought the information to Grissom." His voice dropped to a whisper, "about the tortoises! You won't believe what we found. I want to see his face! Jim didn't want me to come alone—because he got the thread going." He laughed again, and then he embraced her in a two-arm hug. "And we needed to see our favorite person in the world!" He pulled away and gave her belly a light pat, adding, "And to see if she's doing as well as she says she is!"

"You came all this way! Why didn't you call? What are you doing here—here at the crater?"

Greg gave her another hug. "You know your internet service isn't very good and our phone calls—seemed to disappear," he shrugged. "Late last night, I sent half-a-dozen text messages from Quito that we hoped you'd get before we got here."

Sara was speechless.

He continued, saying, "We got the flights arranged, found a hotel, and got this far before we heard some of the tortoises had been found." He waved a hand toward the highway. "Our truck taxi driver is around somewhere—he promised to wait for us—the highway is jammed with parked vehicles."

"It doesn't matter—oh, Greg, you can't know how good it is to see you." Sara's voice trembled with emotion before she managed a quiet laugh. "We stay busy but it's—it's good to have you—you and Jim—here. I do hope you're planning to stay for a while?"

A great shout came from the crowd; the first tortoises had arrived at the top of the rim.

 _A/N: Surprise visitors! Please...enjoy...and leave a comment or review! Long live GSR!_


	10. Chapter 10

_**A/N: A new chapter! Thank you for reading!**_

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 10**

Gil Grissom was unaware of the surprise that awaited him at the top of the crater. His climbing ability was nowhere near that of a recreational amateur and he did not think he'd ever climbed a mountain except on a well-beaten trail. Getting out of this crater with sixty to seventy pounds of tortoises was a strenuous task. And, while he would have difficulty identifying a piton from a carabineer, today, on the last upward climb, he accepted the offer of a rappelling rope and wrapped it as directed under his thighs, across his body, and over his shoulder.

The last thirty feet, with the rope secured on something over the edge of the crest, freed his body of some of the exertion and helped to clear his mind of exhaustion, and, it seemed, he gained strength knowing the end was near.

Hands reached to help him, relieving him of the weight he carried, and he took a deep breath. His clothes were so wet it was impossible to tell where swear left off and the damp from the mist began. And from the looks of others, his face was covered in a layer of dust and muck. As soon as he cleared the top, someone handed him a water bottle and a towel, hands patted his back as welcoming words reached his ears. He managed to step out of the harness and to wipe his face before a warm tortilla filled with beans, corn, and meat was thrust into his hand. At that moment, he realized the rescue had turned into a celebration.

Several grills had been set up and people were cooking and serving food. A truck filled with water bottles was backed next to the rescue trucks. And every time a tortoise was handed up and placed into another truck, the crowd cheered. As soon as attention turned from him to the next person coming up, he headed into the throng. He knew Sara and Edie had come with the rescue squad; he was certain she was still there.

…Jim Brass, even as he hugged Sara, was still a bit awed that he had found his way on such a trip, an adventure, with Greg Sanders. They had admitted at some point that a search for stolen tortoises was more exciting than looking at another dead body in an alley or another mid-western gambler at a poker table—both needed a vacation.

With a little help from his friends, Jim had tracked down dozens of stores selling high-price duffel bags and then called manufacturers. A needle in a haystack until he'd found a company in the USA that made waxed duffel bags, who had a manager who was an environmentalist, and had company stores that kept good records.

Twenty-four bags had been sold to one individual from one store in one day—for cash—and the store was in San Diego. Jim called Nick Stokes who was more than happy to visit the store where he'd found two women who remembered the man. Their description of him matched millions of others—white, well-dressed, rich, with an accent similar to Nick's.

Now, Brass held the daughter of his long-time friends and made funny faces just to hear her laugh. In the baby's laugh, he heard the lilt and inflections of her mother's voice. To Edie, he was her 'Poppy'.

In a brief moment, he remembered the young woman who had appeared in Vegas. They—he and Sara—had not liked each other at first. So many years ago when he'd been angry at the world for reasons he no longer remembered. Gradually, he had changed his mind; Sara had made him laugh. Her quick wit, her astonishing intelligence, her uncompromising compassion added to his growing admiration for the young woman. And when he learned of her tragic childhood, watched as she struggled through personal difficulties—some of them caused by the man he considered a friend—he became her friend. Over time, he grew to love her as a daughter.

When Gil Grissom had left the lab, Brass knew he had gone to find Sara. His reaction to their marriage had been one of approval, knowing his friends had a beautiful future ahead. They traveled, bought a house when Sara returned to work in the lab, and Grissom began a bewildering wanderlust pursuit of far-flung travels. And then Grissom seemed to disappear. Not completely—Jim knew Gil Grissom was an independent character with a lonely nature that came from a lengthy and chosen solitary life. One day, he had left Vegas on a scientific study in South America; months later, Brass had learned of their divorce in a disturbing conversation with Sara. He'd kept quiet knowing she would eventually open-up about what had happened but she had never mentioned it again as a degree of sadness seemed to settle over her life.

Lifting Edie over his head as the child laughed, his eyes found Sara engaged in an animated conversation with Greg. What a different and joyous life she had today, he thought as he realized how happy it made him to see her.

…Sara was absolutely astonished to discover Greg and Jim at the crater—never in her dreams did she think they would be anywhere within a thousand miles of these islands; she expected no friends to visit them during their stay on the Galapagos Islands.

Everyone's attention turned to the first arriving tortoises; the crowd congregated around the trucks that had been backed into place near the path. Smoke rose from the grills and mixed with the afternoon mist as a cheer rose from the crowd. Sara did not expect Grissom to be among the first to reach the top so she did not rush into the crowd. Instead, she moved in the opposite direction where she could see the trail and the line of grime-covered rescuers struggling up the rough path.

For the next half-hour or so, their conversation was something akin to the Elefun game Edie enjoyed—butterflies blown from a plastic elephant's trunk and caught with a net. They covered everyone they knew, changes at the lab and in Vegas, her pregnancy, Gil's work all while being entertained and interrupted by the gleeful antics of Edie. In the bantering way of close friends, their talk skipped and repeated and circled back to a dozen topics before Sara saw her husband being helped to the top.

He disappeared quickly into the crowd as she walked toward him; Edie riding on her arm. Several minutes passed before he walked out of the throng of people only a few yards to her left.

"Gil!"

For Gil Grissom, love was strange. How it went every which way and doubled back on itself. Sara loved him; he had almost lost her—not her love—but physically lost her. Today, as she came toward him, he knew she did not care that his clothes were soaked and covered with muck. When she locked her arm around his neck and kissed him, he was no longer exhausted—not exactly revived—but he instantly felt better.

Taking Edie from her mother, Grissom heard Sara's animated words tumbling out in her fast-paced one-sided conversation about the tortoises, the search for evidence and closing the case as his daughter babbled about her own excited day. Half-way listening to their rapid chatter, he heard Sara mention waxed bags and photographs before she said, "We have a surprise for you."

Edie said, very clearly, "Poppy here." Not once but several times. His tired mind responded with an affirmative reply more to appease than recognizing the meaning of her words.

When Sara stopped walking, he lifted his eyes and, in this manner, he found himself looking into the smiling face of Jim Brass. A moment later, with his mouth dropped open in astonishment, he saw Greg Sanders standing a few feet away. It took a few minutes for the swirling words he'd heard to fall into place.

The two men had brought their discoveries to him—traveling over four thousand miles to hand him information they thought would solve the case of stolen tortoises. Much later, their findings would be spread on the dining table, but upon seeing the two men, Gil Grissom did something he rarely did. He hugged both men, none caring about dirt, sweat, and green stains transferring from one to the other, squeezing Edie between them until Sara lifted her from Gil's hold. Then, surprising Jim and Greg, Grissom hugged them again.

Back in Vegas, the two men would describe a speechless Gil Grissom to Catherine but standing on the gravel path, the three stumbled over words, repeated the same questions and gave the same answers as they had given Sara, as Grissom kept interjecting his state of astonishment that they had traveled so far.

Somehow, Greg located the correct taxi—another white truck with double seats—and they all piled into the vehicle after Grissom passed messages to the others to come to their house as soon as possible.

After leaving the visitors at their hotel with directions to their house, Grissom, shaking his head for the umpteenth time in an hour, laughed as he said, "I cannot believe those two arrived today—of all days—out of the blue!"

Fatigue had covered Sara like a weighted blanket on the ride back to town. Her head was on his shoulder, eyes closed. Edie had fallen asleep in her dad's lap. She said, "Are you sure we aren't dreaming? Greg and Jim—here—for two weeks!"

Grissom said, "I can't wait to see what they've discovered—it has to be good. And does it really solve this case."

A weary sigh came from Sara. "We have about a few hours before everyone descends on us."

As the taxi came to a stop in front of their house, Grissom said, "Take the first shower. I'll put Edie in her bed and maybe you'll have time for a nap."

Laughing, Sara said, "I think I'm too excited for a nap. I want to hear every word of this."

Grissom helped her out of the truck, shaking his head again. He said, "It's only mid-afternoon—and we've had quite a day, dear."

Sara made a mumbling groan, saying, "Yeah, and I left the stroller at the cafe." She gave him a withering look as she said, "You aged me a decade when you got in that red truck! A thousand things could have happened to you."

"Awww, Sara." Grissom chuckled. "He was harmless—and he said the right things. There is no real crime here other than a stolen bicycle—no criminals live here and no one has a gun." He kissed her forehead. "Get in the shower before Edie wakes up."

She'd forgive him for being reckless, he thought, as he grinned and added, "I'll get the stroller after I soap you up."

 _A/N: The 'soap-up' should do it! Thank you for reading; thanks for your comments! Help us keep GSR alive in fanfiction!_


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: _Thank you for reading! Enjoy!_**

 **A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 11**

Usually, a shower took four to five minutes with water turned off while soaping up but today, Sara kept the water running. Her husband had a promise to keep. After several minutes, she reached for the soap knowing the promise would be postponed.

When she got out of the shower, she heard voices downstairs then heard the pad of bare feet on the stairs. She tied her robe around her body; a few seconds passed before Grissom's head popped around the door.

"Too late?" His voice was soft, sheepish. He stammered, "One—one of the men from the café brought the stroller over. Teresa came in and took Edie." He chuckled, saying, "She was fussing about how dirty she was—and then she looked at me. Said a few words I didn't understand but fairly certain it was something about the dirt would never come out."

Sara laughed, wrapped a towel around her hair, and waved a thumb in the direction of the shower. She said, "It's all yours! Maybe a drop of hot water left! And you owe me one."

"I'm sorry," he said. Reached for her then pulled away. "And I'm filthy—give me a minute."

Sara laughed and touched his nose with her lips. "Shower—I'll make sure we have food for the army that's likely to show up." She grinned, adding, "And Jim and Greg are here! I felt like I was in a dream when I realized they were here."

Pulling his clothes off, piling them into a heap, Grissom stripped to bare skin. Sara laughed again. Dirt stained his hands and covered his face in smudges of brown and green; his backside pale in comparison. "You look like the swamp monster," she said.

Giving her a smiling smirk, he disappeared into the shower.

Less than an hour later, Jim Brass and Greg Sanders showed up with a suitcase loaded with gifts and several thick files. They set the files aside for later; outside, the two visitors admired Sara's vegetables, drank the favorite beer of the islands, and continued catching up with their friends. It had been months since the four had been together and with familiar ease, they slipped into over-talking, laughing, and re-telling news and past events.

Jim and Greg briefly explained what they had discovered. Grissom said, "You can't know how much I appreciate you doing this. You've had to pull every favor owed for all of this!" He laughed, saying, "We have to pass it on to the authorities in Quito—it can come from law enforcement here. They are beat up over this and the federal agents are not telling them anything." He sighed, giving a hint of a smile. "These guys will be thrilled."

When Edie woke from her nap, the men pulled out gifts from Morgan, Catherine, and others who had worked with Sara and Grissom. A music box, a soft doll, several books and a bead maze which quickly became an interesting favorite. Jim had a dozen stories to tell about Catherine Willows and her casino; Greg had as many anecdotes about the lab, odd cases, the occasional bizarre event that could only happen in Vegas. Two hours passed easily, effortlessly in the presence of friends.

When the others began to arrive, Sara and Teresa placed food on the kitchen table and Jim Brass pulled out papers and graphs and spreadsheets that Greg taped to the walls of the dining room. Everyone was excited and animated; all of them knew each other and knew Grissom and Sara. Jim and Greg were introduced and, as Grissom gave a brief history of the two men, the group became more enthusiastic; all traces of the exhausting hike into and out of the crater forgotten.

Chairs were gathered from all over the house and even then, a few sat on the floor or leaned against the wall. When the director of the research center stood, the group quieted. As Greg, speaking in English, began to explain what information he and Brass had discovered, the director translated.

Almost immediately, Grissom saw the progress the two men had made using advanced technology to follow a few threads. When the photographs appeared, the men and women were astonished at what the Las Vegas lab had been able to establish with hundreds of tourists' photos.

Photographs had been superimposed one over another showing movement of different boats from late afternoon until early morning. Most of the cruise ships had moved from the area in darkness, heading to another island, and easily identified. They had listed the names of the ships and highlighted most of them with the next destination which left several smaller yachts.

From dusk to dawn, four yachts had disappeared from the bay.

Greg had been explaining the information as he walked from one spreadsheet to another. He said, "The Canadians and the Norwegians have developed technology to track any ocean-going vessel of certain size. However, two of these yachts don't meet the criteria for tracking." He paused, grinned, and said, "So we traced those two."

There were dozens of photos that showed the two yachts, identified by shape, size, and names painted on the rear of the vessels.

Greg pointed to one. He said, "This one sailed through the Panama Canal six days after leaving Galapagos. A few days ago, it sailed into Galveston Bay where it tied into a slip registered to a company named Daniel Duncan Enterprises—it's an oil exploration company."

When he paused for the translation to catch up, one of the men sitting on the floor raised his hand and asked, "Is the boat searched?"

The research director motioned to halt any response until he'd finished speaking.

Greg said, "No, but," another grin and he glanced at Sara, "but, the Texas Rangers are watching."

Several asked questions that took a few minutes to answer.

Brass opened another folder and handed several pages to Greg who said, "The owner of this company has," he held up a satellite view of land, "a very large ranch in south Texas. We think these tortoises are headed there—when they leave the boat."

At this, the research director asked, "But why—how did some of the tortoises end up in the crater?"

Together, Greg, Jim, and Grissom shook their heads. Grissom said, "Maybe they had too many—they could hide the bags but perhaps they didn't think the tortoises would be the size they were."

More questions followed that led to theories and stories and discussion before reaching general agreement that the park superintendent and local police chief would take the information to Quito the next day.

Finally, long after the sun had disappeared, Brass and Greg departed with the park rangers and a couple of law enforcement officers.

Edie had played, entertained and been entertained for hours by the crowd who had occupied her home and had gone to sleep shortly after dusk.

Suddenly, Sara and Grissom found themselves alone after a very long day.

"Come on," he said. "I owe you something."

… As he moved slippery-soapy hands over Sara's body, exhaustion diminished and the prospect of having uninterrupted time alone brought effortless relaxation.

"Having someone else bathe you is as close to paradise as one can get."

Grissom chuckled as he reached for the plastic shower stool. "Sit," he said. "I'll shampoo your hair."

Sara laughed. "And a shampoo! You know how close you came to being in the dog house!"

Kissing the top of her head, he apologized again. "I honestly think the guy would have left if I'd hesitated."

"Do you think he was involved with the theft?" She leaned back so her head touched his belly.

"No, no, I don't." Fingers ran through her hair giving her head a gentle massage. "I think he was surprised—once we started down into the crater, he talked, didn't seem bothered by questions and was puzzled—why dump the tortoises there of all places?"

Holding the hand-held shower, Grissom rinsed shampoo from his wife's hair and reached to turn the water off, wholly aware of the heat and intimacy growing.

Sara objected, saying, "Keep it running—I'll do the same for you."

And from that point, they each knew. No longer a means to forgive and forget, the shower became desire and longing that carried from bathroom to bed.

…Something about Sara's hands sliding across his back caused a tentacle of fire to race from Grissom's brain to his groin. In seconds, he was aroused and when she moved to face him, he saw the response in her eyes. She leaned to his face and kissed him lightly on the mouth. The tips of her wet curls touched his cheeks and he could smell the aroma left in her hair by the shampoo. He held her and kissed her as she turned off the water.

In gathered arms, they managed to half-dry their bodies and made it to the bed where she pushed him onto cool sheets before laying beside him. As he turned to face her, she said:

"Don't move." Spreading her legs, she sat across his thighs, propping arms on each side of his shoulders, her hands on the sheets.

As she smiled, and just before she kissed him, he noticed the sprinkle of freckles on her shoulders looked like tiny flowers. His hardness and desire felt like the flaming heat from the mid-day sun; he ached to enter her softness seeking pleasure and sanctuary long before orgasm. As her passion fitted around him, he knew the satisfaction and fulfillment of sexual passion.

 _ **A/N: Thank you for reading and a special thanks to those who review and comment! Probably one more chapter to this story-keep GSR alive!**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: Thank you for reading along with our story! Last chapter...we hope you liked it well enough to leave us a comment or review!** _

**A Beautiful Enchantment**

 **Chapter 12**

Greg Sanders stretched his arms over his head and smiled at the scene in front of him. Some people deserve each other, he thought. Sometimes two cranky and irritable people got together as a couple—or even as co-workers—and everyone knew they belonged together; to be ill-tempered together, constantly arguing, never a good day. He smiled. Sara and Grissom belonged together because they deserved the happiness each brought to the other. They were good—good as individuals and good as a couple. Watching them together was like watching a well-rehearsed ensemble, a rock band; his smile widened. One was the right hand to the other, seamless and complete. Yes, he thought with a quiet chuckle, they completed each other.

For two weeks, he and Jim had explored. Most of the time their friends had been leading the treks—the expeditions—because it was an exploration into unknown territory for he and Jim Brass. They had seen black iguanas, blue-footed boobies, red-footed boobies, small, medium, and large giant tortoises, red crabs, frigate birds, albatrosses, and dozens of creatures he'd never seen before as they hiked over green sand and black rocks and red dirt trails. Then there were the hundreds of sharks, sting rays, turtles, colorful fish, and dolphins they had seen in the water. He'd never known the true meaning of wildlife diversity until this trip.

And the ability of Sara, Grissom and Edie to spot wildlife simply amazed him. Edie had been the one to point to a small black iguana on the black rock right before he'd sat on the rock. After that, she became his iguana spotting expert pointing out the small creatures before he could spot them—and she was good at it.

When they were returning from the island of Floreana, Grissom had aimed a finger across the water.

"Look!" He'd said. Following his finger, just beneath the surface a V-shape of grey-blue rockets appeared.

Suddenly, the missiles launched themselves with the synchronization of the best dance line in Vegas; six dolphins broke the surface of the water and made a perfect arc in the air, soaring ten, twelve feet above the sparkling water. As soon as this group submerged, another group jumped from the water. Not dozens but hundreds as far as they could see seemed to be oblivious to their human audience as the dolphins jumped in high arcs, spun in circles, danced and played in explosive freedom.

Edie, bundled up against the wind and sun and attached to her father in an elaborate front carrier, quickly pointed to the water in front of the boat where a dolphin was keeping speed and direction with the boat's prow. Clearly, she said, "This way! Follow me!" Everyone had laughed and her father had kissed the child's head multiple times—another event that had amazed Greg.

That Grissom was a father was another astonishing fact of life to Greg. Not an adoring father to one, but, in a few weeks, to a second baby and obviously excited about expanding the family. Quietly, he chuckled as Edie left Jim and ran toward him.

He knew little about children, yet knew enough to know Edie was advanced for her age. For one, she spoke coherently, not the baby-talk he'd heard other parents brag about. She knew numbers and colors, not as a rhyming lyric but as in counting and pointing to specific colors. This tiny girl watched with a thinking mechanism behind beautiful eyes, he thought. He knew enough about genetics to know the intermingling of Gil Grissom and Sara Sidle could not fail to be produce a powerful human being.

Edie dragged her favorite toy to Greg, telling him she was putting all the blue beads together and he could push all the red beads together.

She said, "I am faster!" Her fingers flew to collect blue beads, moving the wooden beads along metal tracks with small hands.

Greg laughed, knowing what she already knew. She would finish first.

…Jim Brass did not want to think about leaving this enchanted place. Every day they had a new adventure—beaches, boat rides, hikes over a landscape like no other on earth—working with the group taking the tortoises back to their island. He and Greg had celebrated with the locals on the return of every stolen tortoise and knowing they had a role in finding the person—the moneyed thief—who had stolen the tortoises had given them tremendous satisfaction. Not that the Texan oil man or any of his cronies would ever do more than pay a fine to the government of Ecuador, but everyone seemed to be content with the return of the animals and a lifetime banishment of the wealthy man from ever visiting the country.

The days and long nights spent with Sara and Gil had been warm and filled with wonderful conversations about hundreds of subjects. He knew he had worked too much and too long to have any sense of a normal home life, but his friends had it. Marriage suited them; being parents agreed with them and their happiness was contagious.

He could not remember a time when he had enjoyed sitting in the sun, playing with an affectionate little girl, and being a part of a happy family.

At times, when she was unaware, he'd watch Sara. She was the same woman, beautifully aged from the girl she had been when she had arrived in Vegas. There was a softness about her that she had kept well-hidden while working. Now, her voice was lighter, her movements graceful even with the added weight of late pregnancy. He'd asked about her health, the swiftly arriving due date and having her baby so far from home. Meaning, delivering a baby on a remote island in a hospital that was little more than an infirmary—she had softly laughed at his concern; described the well-equipped maternity clinic and the well-trained physician who would deliver the baby.

"We'll be back in LA before you know it, Jim!" She had assured him. "A family of four," she laughed as she sat beside him and took his hand in hers. "Plan to visit more often, please—longer visits. We'll have our hands full and Gil is itching to do some fund-raising for the research center." She gave him a compelling gaze, lifting her chin as she smiled. "And I know Edie loves her Poppy."

…

Exactly thirty days after Greg and Jim flew back to Las Vegas, a few weeks before the official due date, Sara's son was born just after midnight in the quiet government hospital of Puerto Ayora. She had a few mild contractions before she got to the hospital and then three or four strong contractions after her water broke, the baby arrived. The physician barely made it to the delivery room in time and then she celebrated with Grissom in a brief dance after the little guy was checked and determined to be healthy and beautiful.

The baby was pink-skinned, slim, with a little hint of golden curls on his perfect head, and vivid blue eyes which would never change. Anyone with a glimpse of the father recognized the same eyes, the similar structure of hands and feet, the same mouth, and the dark-gold-tipped eyelashes.

Sara had scarcely felt pain, overcome with joy of another baby, and euphoric to have a son—one of each, she said. A few hours after his birth, from the moment his sister laid eyes on him, Edie adored her baby brother.

Grissom sat in a hospital chair, holding his daughter who held a hand-sewn soft iguana-shaped toy the doctor had given her, and watched his wife cradled his son. The image blurred as his eyes filled with happy tears and caused him to smile. Kissing the top of his daughter's head, he said, "What will we name him?" They had decided to be surprised at birth by gender and had talked about dozens of names for a newborn.

Raising her eyes to meet his, Sara said, "You can name him."

"No, you did all the work—I'm happy with any name."

"Gilbert?"

He laughed, shaking his head at this well-worn debate.

Edie held up her toy, saying, "My new iguana is Gilbert!"

Grissom shrugged, his mouth making a quirky smile. He said, "We can't name our son after an iguana, can we?"

Sara laughed. "I've thought about William."

Grissom's eyebrows lifted. He said, "As in Shakespeare?" By the tilt of her head, he chuckled, saying, "Ahh—William the Conqueror?" She shook her head, laughing. "William Butler Yeats—the poet? Or Wordsworth? William has a great history. Will or Bill or Billy or Willie?"

Another laugh from Sara before she said, "Will, I think. And as in William Beebe." Her fingertips touched her newborn's forehead. "I like his book—part Indiana Jones." She laughed, adding, "part Gilbert Grissom."

The End...

 _ **A/N: And that brings about story to its finish! Thank for reading. Thank you for taking time to comment. Thank you for keeping GSR alive in fanfiction. And read about William Beebe-a great scientist and inventor!**_

 _ **Thank you again for continuing to support us! Happy spring!**_


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